


Brains & Hearts

by ivynights (incantatem)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incantatem/pseuds/ivynights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombies invade Camelot and life proceeds fairly normally, all things considered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brains & Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this ](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/5454.html?thread=2550606#t2550606) km prompt.

Merlin first learns about the Reanimation when Gwen bursts into Gaius' chambers, hysterical, screaming that she’s just seen her father. Gaius is out on a house call but Arthur is there with him, actually, which is something of a revelation in and of itself. Merlin fell off his horse when it spooked on the ride back from the day's hunting trip and had twisted his ankle somehow. Arthur insisted on helping Merlin back to him room, complaining all the while but refusing to release his grip around Merlin's shoulder, despite Merlin's insistence that he could make it back to the quarters just fine, really, thank you Sire.

After they get Gwen to calm down (aided by one of Gaius' sleeping potions and a surreptitious something extra courtesy of Merlin's golden irises), they decide to investigate before bringing the matter to Uther's attention; after all, if he hears Tom’s still alive he will merely be doubly convinced he’s using sorcery and doubtlessly kill him all over again, along with a fresh new crop of supposed magicians, brought on by a renewed bought of paranoia.

So. They head down into the village and begin to ask around. They both feel rather foolish asking random civilians whether, oh, by the way, have any of your deceased loved once recently reappeared? but Arthur carries it off through his usually combination of force of will and Princely Stature and Merlin gives them his sheepish, reassuring smile behind Arthur's back (no, the Prince hasn't gone insane and no, you're not in danger of being dragged off into the dungeons, no need to worry).

They begin to question Gwen's sanity when no one answers in the affirmative so they decide to verify her story for themselves. Merlin would have preferred to open the door to Tom's former smithy with caution but Arthur refuses to be intimidated by any man, beast, or reanimated corpse, so they burst right in, sword drawn, hand slyly out, fingers splayed for enchantment, just in case.

Tom’s there. Seated on top of his worktable, clothes tattered, eyes glassy, staring down at the ground. He doesn’t react to their presence in the slightest.

Until: "You, there," Arthur says, "Are you Tom the blacksmith?"

 _Obviously_ , Merlin thinks, _prat_ \- until there’s no time for any more thinking as Tom's eyes snap towards them, jaw falling open with an audible creak, which is disturbing, and lets out a low groan that leaves no room for debate.

It had been a valid question. That is decidedly _not_ Tom the blacksmith. Not anymore.

Not Tom lunges at them, jumping off the table top with unsteady skill. Once on two feet, he sways back and forth in jerky motions. He processes towards them, limbs moving as though barely controlled.

"Merlin," Arthur says, in a decidedly calm fashion, "get behind me." He raises his sword into position to attack and kill.

"Arthur, you can't kill him, that's Gwen's father!"

"Well that’s not Gwen's father anymore. And if we don't kill him he is bloody well likely to _kill us_."

"Maybe Gaius can cure him!" _Or maybe I can_.

"Merlin, this is really not the time for a debate. _Get behind me_."

Inwardly, Merlin sighs, and steps behind Arthur. Out of his line of vision, he lets loose a spell. Not Tom suddenly collapses, hitting the ground with a heavy thump.

"Well," Arthur breathes out, "that was a stroke of luck."

Merlin refrains from making him collapse too.

Arthur strides over to the corpse, kneeling down to check for a pulse. There isn't one. But then - Not Tom lets out a low groan once more, although he remains still.

Merlin and Arthur catch eyes. There’s no doubt about it. This is yet another case of (extremely strange) sorcery.

Arthur has to inform Uther of the situation, but not before taking Tom down to the dungeons and securing him firmly in chains. Arthur wondered whether it wouldn't just be kinder to go ahead and kill Tom him beforehand, put him out of his misery and save him from anything Uther might subject, but Merlin makes him hold off, wait until they confirm the condition is incurable.

Gaius convinces Uther to refrain from killing Not Tom at first sight, selling him on the point that keeping Not Tom around as a test subject for cures might be essentially important if the disease becomes an epidemic.

Over the next week, more reports trickle in to the castle, tales of living dead in the outlying villages, but things remain relatively quiet in Camelot until a group of ten of them shuffle into the castle's courtyard one night, overpowering the few sleepy guards on duty and spending the remaining hours of the night devouring their flesh. The scene isn't discovered until sunrise and from then on Camelot is on full alert. Uther has excuse to indulge his militant tendencies to their full strength and Camelot's knights are sent out scouring the country, looking for the sorcerer in charge and attempting to protect the people to the best of their abilities. Gaius spends hours surrounded by herbal concoctions, while Geoffrey searches through seas of dusty tombs. Morgana’s dreams increased to a nightly occurrence while Gwen works double time, doing anything she can to aid the injured and terrified villagers who make their way into Camelot’s ground, studiously avoiding going down to the dungeons all the while. Merlin spends all the time he can down in the dungeons with Not Tom, seated a few feet apart from the shackled body, trying out every combination of spells he can think of to either reawake the man the body had belonged to or at least put the shell to rest.

The rest of his time he spends with Arthur. Arthur, who is working like he's never worked before, leaving as the sun rises and coming back late in the evening days later, exhausted and frustrated after yet another fruitless mission of sorcerer searching. And he isn't even complaining. When it comes to fulfilling his duty of serving his people, Arthur never complains.

Weeks pass.

Merlin takes to spending the occasional night curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace in Arthur’s chambers, not wanting to miss him before he heads out the next day. Arthur hasn’t noticed. Merlin knows that seems preposterous, but he doesn’t lie down until Arthur’s fallen fast asleep, which takes barely longer than it takes for his head to reach the pillow in exhaustion, and gets up before the prince wakes every morning.

Merlin won’t ever admit it, but he’s starting to miss Arthur rather a great deal.

Merlin thinks it ridiculous and pathetic (after all, he’s survived two decades on his own in Ealdor just fine!) but he can’t deny that he feels _wrong_ in some way without Arthur around, like his whole existence is thrown off balance and he can’t get his mind and body to line up properly. The fact that he apparently needs a running commentary of insults and an ever-increasing list of menial chores to feel complete as a person is not something that thrills him, but Merlin feels he hasn’t any choice in the matter. Privately, he blames Destiny, the dragon, and Arthur’s stupid _stupid_ charm, so that no matter how prattish he’s being he’s somehow impossible to resist…

He wants him back. He hates that he can’t go with him every day, to be there to protect him from the groaning masses.

When they find out who’s causing the Reanimation, Merlin will kill him himself.

One time late into the night, mind deep within his own head after spending hours with no one but Not Tom for company, Merlin is surprised by a visit from Morgana. She joins him in the cell, feverish and pale, shaking as sweat pools in the dip underneath her throat.

"I had a dream about this all, before it happened. I think I forgot about it the first time it occurred, pushed it out my mind, but I just fell asleep and it all came back to me again. There are more coming. So many more. Bodies everywhere! I saw... my- my parents!"

Everything has grown dark.

Still, Merlin does have something to be thankful for, something that only occurred to him after a particularly gruesome dream one night; Merlin’s glad that nobody he was close to has come paid him a visit yet… that Will hasn’t. The thought of seeing him reduced to a… groaning, lunging _thing_ would be intolerable.

There’s another thing Merlin’s thankful for too, one that preys on him mind frequently, one he tries not to jinx; nearly all of the magical foes he’s eliminated hadn’t left behind a body, had burst into flame and dissolved into ash or burst into a million pieces in a blinding explosion of light.

But then one day Sophia rematerializes in Arthur’s chambers, appearing in front of the fireplace; Arthur is out with the men as usual but Merlin’s there alone, having got tired of Not Tom’s moaning and clanking, needing a place to clear his head he could be guaranteed solitude.

She’s solid and particularly animated for a walking corpse and her obvious hunger has an edge of anger to it. Something to do with an especially nasty grinding of teeth and a shaper gleam in a living dead’s eye than normal and Merlin is so shocked to see her that at first all he can do is stare at her dumbly. Her groan is much less incoherent than the others’, sounding somewhat like “Meeeeeeerliiiiiiiiiiiiin” and entirely like revenge.

Before he’s recovered, she’s only two steps away from him and fortunately that’s when Arthur happens to stomp through the door. It’s a testament to the fact that he really has been trained to kill since birth that Sophia’s got a sword through her back before she can close the second footstep.

Later that evening, Arthur’s room has been straightened to a truly meticulous degree and Merlin knows he’s dawdling and that he’s being ridiculous because he can just come back in the room after Arthur falls asleep, like he often does, but he just _does not want to leave him_. Arthur hasn’t commented on Merlin’s useless rearranging, so Merlin thinks he doesn’t really want to be alone either. They’re both feeling the oddly contradictory feeling of jittery exhaustion, the sort that only comes with many days of too little sleep and too much anxiousness.

But Arthur’s been raised to abhor talking about feelings and Merlin’s not even sure what he’d say if he had the chance, _look Arthur, I care about you to a degree that is truly ridiculous and I’ve been getting the feeling you feel the same about me, want to make out now or perhaps just hold on to each other and never let go?_ (Even Merlin wants to make fun of himself for thinking something so sappy.) So, eventually Merlin leaves and Arthur sleeps and Merlin sneaks back in and curls up on the rug in front of the fire, right where Sophia appeared, a thought he tries not to dwell on, and the night progresses as usual.

Except that not one hour later Merlin is wakened to find Arthur crouched down beside him, a beyond puzzled expression on his face.

“Merlin,” he says, “what in the name of all that is sacred are you doing here?”

“Um,” Merlin tries, “sleeping?”

Arthur gives him one of his looks.

“I just… Wait, what are you doing up anyway? You always sleep through the night.”

“How do you know that? It’s not… you haven’t done this _before_ have you?”

Merlin just holds his gaze for a moment. He suspects he should be feeling more embarrassed than he actually does, something to do with being too close to sleep and too close to Arthur and yet too far from either.

“I just didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“As I recall, it was _me_ who saved _you_ from Sophia earlier.” Arthur speaks with his usual drawl but his face looks unusually tender. Merlin wonders if Arthur realizes his expression; he suspects he hasn’t a clue or else it wouldn’t still be there.

Merlin raises himself into a seated position and Arthur sinks down, level with him. They sit and look at each other for a full minute, before Arthur reaches out a hand and holds on to Merlin’s upper arm without a word.

Something’s happening. Something they’ve been building up to for a long time, something that, if one believes the dragon, greater forces have been conspiring toward for much longer.

Arthur doesn’t remove his hand, but he seems stalled, frozen in place. Merlin, who’s seen Arthur spring without fear at every chasm he’s ever faced, is oddly touched.

So Merlin’s the one who surges forward, free arm coming up to grab Arthur by the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss.

Later they tear back, panting slightly, pupils wide and dark. Arthur has a helpless little grin on his face and Merlin’s sure his own expression matches.

“Merlin, I…” Arthur starts, but still seems at a loss.

It’s okay. There will be time for talking later.

“What? That all you got, Pendragon?”

Arthur’s smile is soft and wild. “Hardly, idiot.” He surges forward again, tackling Merlin back down on to the rug. He pulls back to mutter, and Merlin swears Arthur giggles faintly, the noise breathless and slightly hysterical and entirely endearing, “Never underestimate your prince, Merlin.”

Hours later, Merlin blinks awake slowly, momentarily puzzled by the immense softness he finds himself swallowed by and the solid heat pressed up against his side, until he’s hit with a bolt of clarity and starts – not at the reason he’s in this bed but the reason he woke in the first place.

He’d been dreaming. Not the dreams of a Seer, like Morgana’s, but ones of prophecy and clarity all the same, a name on his lips that wasn’t the one he’d fallen asleep sighing.

If Sophia could come back, they all could. Every foe he’d left corpseless, they were all fair game. Every. Single. One.

Even Nimueh.

Nimueh could reemerge. Sophia still showed a scent of her old spark; he’d no doubt Nimueh had the capacity to remember a lot more that that. He had a vague theory forming, something to do with magic and power, time dead and the amount of unfinished goals left behind.

Merlin tries to sit up and process, but the warmth against him lets out a soft sigh of protest and the arm across his middle tightens its grip. Merlin sinks back down into the pillows, trying to get his heart rate back to normal.

He’ll deal with Nimueh later.

He looks down at the mop of mussed blond hair, long blond eyelashes and too red lips parted just slightly…

Right now he has better reasons to make his heart beat uncontrollably.


End file.
